For the first time in what felt like forever, my friends list didn't resemble a dusty museum of forgotten usernames.
One by one, familiar green lights blinked online—some steady, some flickering, some practically vibrating with excitement. I didn't waste time crafting long messages. I sent a single line to all of them:
"Need help. Meet me in Neo Manila — Eton Centris."
No context. No excuses. Just that.
I leaned against the backrest of the chair in the VR Starbucks, watching the neon veins trace every building in slow, hypnotic cycles—blue shifting to violet as the virtual evening bled into night. The city hummed, alive with the quiet chaos of players wandering, chatting, trading, and hunting.
COD:VR had always been a beast of five mega-continents:
Pacifica — it's where Neo Manila, Neo Singapore and other Asian cities resides. Ruled by the Continental Leader. The same asshole who put a bounty on Trace's and my head.
Atlantica — tactical fortresses across Europe. Commanded by the Grand Marshal.
Hesperica — the Americas, a PK paradise where chaos was law, led by the Hesperica Warden.
Solara — Middle East and Africa hybrid servers, under the High Curator.
Arctica — a frozen experimental sandbox, ruled by the Custodian.
Each continent had its layers: Country Leaders, City Leaders, security enforcers, and the power to set bounties—digital hit markers that could turn friends into enemies in seconds.
And today?
Today, the Continental Leader of Pacifica put a bounty on my head. Mine. And TraceZero's.
For being Awakened Classes. For breaking the meta. For existing.
The words burned in my HUD like a neon scar.
I clenched my fists. We were from the same continent. We shared its rules, its players, its server. Yet here he was, a puppet master playing with our lives like pieces on a board.
I exhaled slowly, letting the anger simmer just beneath the surface. The heat in my chest grew, ready to flare. Trace had been quiet beside me, scanning the VR skyline with his cyber-lens, probably calculating every patrol route and bounty hunter squad.
I nudged him with my elbow. "You feel that?" I muttered, voice low.
Trace glanced at me, eyebrow raised. "The hate? Yeah… feels like someone lit a fire in your chest and forgot to give you water."
"Not just hate," I said, voice tight. "This is war. The bastard put a bounty on us, and every PKer, rookie, and glory-seeker within a hundred servers is going to know about it by morning."
Trace swallowed. "We're not exactly invisible either…"
"No," I said, eyes scanning the neon streets. "But neither are we afraid."
Somewhere in the distance, the low hum of hovering drones and the faint chatter of players on comms reminded me: Pacifica was awake tonight. And they were coming.
I smirked, letting the heat in my chest sharpen into something cold, lethal. "Let them come. I've been waiting for this."
Trace tilted his head, lens flickering crimson. "Old man… you sure you're ready for the storm?"
I let the neon glow catch in my eyes, letting my fingers flex around the edge of my gauntlet. "Storm? Trace… we are the storm."
The barista from my first visit served me a fresh cup of café latte while Trace and I are sitting in our table..
"You look too serious again," she murmured. Then she leaned in, lips brushing dangerously close to my ear. Her voice dropped to a whisper, soft but razor-sharp.
"Your bounty just hit global servers. Every continent saw it. But don't worry… you're safe in my café."
Her breath was warm against my skin. The neon lights from the storefront reflected in her eyes, painting them a lethal shade of violet.
I nodded, lifting the cup she'd served me. The heat soaked into my gloves, grounding me for a moment. "Appreciate it," I muttered.
"Don't die out there, Legendary," she said with a teasing shrug before walking away—though I noticed she kept glancing toward the window, scanning for trouble like she wasn't just a barista.
I took a slow sip. Sweet, earthy, calming. But my mind wasn't calm. Not with everything shifting the way it was.
In COD:VR, guilds weren't fashion statements or glorified Discord groups. They were power structures. Economies. Factions that could topple a city or defend one.
I opened my HUD and checked the Guild Rankings, wondering if the giants from Season 12 were still the same monsters ruling the board.
Arena Titans — Atlantica's PvP tyrants, undefeated in tournaments for years.
New Dawn Coalition — Solara's raid kings, the ones who broke every world boss record.
Black Fang Crew — Hesperica's infamous PK cartel, who treated player deaths like currency.
Helix Order — Arctica's secretive researcher-guild, rumored to have dev access and experimental gear.
Even in Pacifica, beneath the polished cities and bright holo-screens, the PK guilds thrived like weeds. Hidden networks. Shadow bazaars. Players who hunted other players for a living.
And now? A Legendary Vanguard and a Cipher had awakened.
I felt the air shift around me—like the whole server had gone quiet for a beat too long.
Because in COD:VR, when something breaks the meta, the world doesn't clap.
The world sharpens its knives.
A moment later…
They arrived.
One after another, familiar silhouettes materialized through the glass doors of the VR Starbucks Café, neon lights glinting off their armor and old guild emblems. The bell above the entrance chimed each time, a soft sound that somehow cut straight through the noise of nearby players whispering about my bounty.
KAIROS came first — our raid sniper, tall and lean, the same calm swagger in his step. His rifle hung across his back like it was welded there.
"Long time no see, Drum," he said, tapping two fingers to his head in greeting. "Heard you stirred up a whole continent."
Then IRISIA pushed in — soft white hair bobbing, medic cross glowing faintly on her sleeve. She looked me up and down with a frown.
"You look like a walking stress debuff," she said. "Sit later. I'm running diagnostics on you."
GRIT barged in behind her — huge, loud, and built like a raid boss wearing a hoodie two sizes too small.
"DRUUUUM!" he thundered, hugging me so hard my hologram flickered. "BRO, YOU'RE ALIVE!? AND YOU'RE A LEGENDARY VANGUARD?!"
I choked. "Grit—air—please."
Then came MISTBLADE, sliding in like a shadow slipped off the wall. Hood up. Steps silent. Always too quiet.
"…Yo," he muttered, already staring at the exits as if planning our escape routes.
And finally…
The café lights dimmed as another figure entered.
A pristine white coat with dark green digital embroidery.
Gray hair tied neatly at the back.
Posture straight enough to cut glass.
Eyes sharp as polished steel — the kind that saw through players and lies alike.
The Gaia Esports President.
Technically Gaia Esports was an academy now, but no one ever stopped calling him "President."
Trace nearly jumped behind me.
"WOAH—woah—woah—why is he here?! What is going on here, old man?!"
I raised a brow. "Relax. I didn't invite him."
Then another voice chimed in from behind the President.
My old mentor — in casual clothes, mismatched shoes, and the world's most unapologetic grin — stepped forward, waving a hand sheepishly.
"Uh… that was me," he said. "You never ask for help, Drumstickkk. So I figured, if you did… it must be serious enough to call the big guy."
The President approached, expression softening as he adjusted his glasses.
"It has been a long time, Drumstickkk."
I nodded once. "President."
A moment of silence passed — the kind that settles heavy on the shoulders.
Then he asked, quietly, carefully:
"Does this have to do with… Meihua?"
The air tightened.
I heard Kairos stop breathing.
Irisia's eyes softened immediately.
Mistblade froze mid-step.
Even Grit, loudest man in the building, fell completely silent.
Trace gulped audibly and shut up for the first time in his life.
All their attention turned to me.
And for a second, my chest ached in a way no damage value could measure.
I raised my hand slowly — and to my embarrassment, my fingers trembled.
Not from fear.
From finally speaking aloud something I'd carried alone for a year.
"A signal," I said.
The café seemed to quiet around us, even the ambient music fading into a distant hum.
"I got a connection attempt from her account. Meihua's account."
I swallowed. "One that should've been deleted."
Every breath around me stopped.
Kairos muttered a curse under his breath.
Irisia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
Grit's shield-arm tightened, metal groaning.
Mistblade's eyes narrowed beneath his hood.
I continued, voice low.
"The system traced it. Pinpointed the source."
I exhaled.
"To Neo Singapore's Core Grid."
The reaction was immediate.
"That's impossible," Mistblade whispered. "You can't access the Core Grid unless you're a dev or… maybe… a national tournament champion."
Kairos frowned. "Drum… even WE couldn't get in back then."
I nodded tightly.
"And it gets worse."
My eyes drifted to Trace, who flinched as if I'd thrown him under the bus.
"The Continental Leader of Pacifica marked Trace and me as bounties. Every PK guild in Pacifica wants us dead. No—soon, it will not be just Pacifica, but the other continents too."
Trace raised his hand weakly. "Uh—hi. I'm Trace. New friend. I… help hack stuff and somehow didn't die."
Silence.
A thick, heavy silence.
But it wasn't fear.
It was the unmistakable quiet of resolve.
Kairos stepped closer, the faint blue reflection of my HUD visible in his sniper goggles.
"We never formed a new guild after Gaia Esports disbanded," he said. "Not because we moved on. But because we couldn't… not without you and Meihua."
Irisia nodded, wiping the corner of her eye.
"We waited, Drum. For a year. We didn't log into any guilds. Didn't join any esports team. Not until we knew."
Grit slammed his shield into the café floor with a metallic crack that made the barista flinch.
"If you're going somewhere dangerous," he said, voice low and rumbling, "you're damn sure not doing it alone."
Mistblade leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.
"I still owe Meihua ten pulls worth of gacha currency," he said. "Can't pay her back if she's… gone. So yeah. Count me in."
Even the President — the man who once coached us, disciplined us, pushed us until our hands shook — bowed his head.
"The world refuses to seek justice for her, you told me you tried to contact her employers Drum" he said quietly, "then we will. Expect me to give you all of my support like the old times."
Trace looked around wide-eyed, not used to this kind of loyalty.
"Holy… you guys are… wow. This is like an anime."
I inhaled sharply.
I didn't expect this.
Not unity.
Not loyalty.
Not after a year of silence and loss.
The President met my eyes.
"Drumstickkk," he said solemnly, "if you wish to form a guild again… we will follow."
"And not as members," Kairos added with a grin, "but as your vanguards."
Something inside me cracked open.
A knot I'd been carrying in my chest — tight, cold, suffocating — finally loosened.
I opened my menu.
A window unfolded in front of me…
A window I hadn't touched since the day Meihua disappeared.
[CREATE GUILD]
Guild Name: ____________________
My fingers hesitated.
I am not one who wants to stir his butt with politics shit but.
I shake my doubt off.
Then finally—
I typed: GAIA LEGACY
A soft chime echoed across the café.
[✔ Guild Created]
Blue lights flared above my friends' heads as they accepted the invites one by one.
Their usernames shifted, glowing with a symbol reborn: A lotus forged from mirrored silver shards, petals fractaling outward like living data paths — clean, minimal, elegant.
Meihua's design of the old Gaia Esports emblem.
Her legacy.
Alive again.
Trace exhaled shakily.
"Old man… it's beautiful."
I closed the menu and looked at them — my old squad, my new ally, my mentor, my President.
My guild.
"Welcome," I said, my voice steady for the first time in twelve months, "to the rebirth of Gaia Esports."
I lifted my head, meeting every pair of eyes.
"To Gaia Legacy."
They raised their weapons — not in aggression…
…but as a vow.